


But I Could Never Love Again

by Coyote Grins (Inksinger)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Elves are Dicks, F/M, Gen, Kael'thas never lost his gotdamned mind, Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Prompt Fill, and Quel'Thalas never joined the Horde, come not to the elves for aid, even if they love you, for they will expect repayment, in which the Scourge didn't completely fuck the blood elves over
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 00:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15960659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Coyote%20Grins
Summary: In the wake of the destruction of Theramore, Kael'thas approaches Jaina with an offer she won't refuse.





	But I Could Never Love Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hidari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hidari/gifts).



> This piece was originally commissioned as a oneshot by Hidari. Unfortunately, as is usually the case... I went a little crazy. Now there are chapters. And this is probably gonna be another 40k nightmare.
> 
> (A MASSIVE thank you to Nighthaunting, who graciously assisted me in figuring out Kael's and Jaina's ceremony and reception outfits. Without her we'd all be on fire and Jaina would be walking down the aisle in a nightgown.)

Nighttime was usually a soft, quiet time throughout the streets of Silvermoon City; the blood elves were not a people predisposed to keeping late nights or rising well before the sun unless necessity demanded it of them. Those who departed from the norm were of a sort to treat the night as something nearly sacrosanct, and moved about on softly padding feet, and when they must speak at all, they spoke in lush, half-whispered tones; and if music should be played, it was gently done, so that the wind carried only the faintest sounds of harps and murmured lyrics through the sleeping city - so that all the world became a place of dimly glowing lights and sweet-smelling teas and herbal blends, and all within the walls were safe and well at ease under the silken evening sky.

So it always was, on every night throughout every season, so long as holidays and the new phenomenon of less-than-pleasant weather did not interfere - for the Sunwell’s restoration was as yet still incomplete, and the fledgling font had not yet fully frozen the kingdom into the eternal, temperate autumn for which the Ranger Corps and Magisterium stood unified in their anticipation. So, too, would it otherwise have been on this night, wrapped as the city was in the velvet coolness of the predawn hours.

But there was no soft stillness across the elven capital this night. Too many bodies moved together towards the city center; too many voices raised to join the growing susurrus that drowned the evening breeze and stirred the sleeping into drowsy wakefulness. Where the citizens of Silvermoon convened, there too was a great gathering of lights, each soft and warmly glowing on their own, now brought all together around a single point, until the pavilion in which they came to rest was illuminated as though by the first pale aurora of the rising sun. Against the soft yet sudden radiance, the deep, violet-washed indigo of the night sky grew darker, now a pool of glittering ink suspended above the restless elves.

Too where the elves came together, the air grew warm and rich and thick: Warm with the heat of many bodies packed together, and with the flickering magelights held aloft in lanterns and upon the great city braziers; thick with the steam and gentle smoke given off by the many streetside food and drink vendors as they prepared and served their freshest wares to the hungry, eager crowd, and with the scent of mulled wine and hot bread and meat and more spices than could be named; and rich, at last, with the scent of all these things commingling with the many perfumes and oils worn by the gathering, and with the aroma lingering above all else of lilies and bloodthistle blooms and an imported sandalwood-plumeria blend called _champa._

There were great banners strung high between the mighty towers and stone pillars ringing the pavilion where the elves gathered, graceful swaths of creamy silk overlaid with glittering golden organza and billowing gently with each little zephyr that swept about them. These, too, were perfumed, and lay laden with blossoms so that when the wind grew stronger, the gathering down below would be showered with scarlet bloodthistle and white-and-gold plumeria.

Bewitched brooms and mops worked in carefully choreographed but frenzied whirlwinds about each other, cleaning the smooth white-gold and coppery brown flagstones of the city square while elves dressed in simple clothes of bleached and undyed cotton knelt and retouched what they could, using magic and mundane handwork in accord to clean away stains, remove scuffs, refill gouges, and return color and varnish to the already well tended pavement of the streets and pavilion floor.

Others busied themselves with the arrangement of seats before a wide, raised dais at the northernmost edge of the pavilion: Large, plush cushions clothed in finely detailed silk were set at the very front of the assembly, reserved for the most esteemed guests in attendance. The seating further back, meanwhile, consisted of long, backless wooden benches, sturdy and richly stained and padded with smaller, less opulent cushions so that those seated upon them - lesser nobles and merchants and the double dozen or so commoners and their guests fortunate enough to receive an invitation to sit in the presence of the celebrants - remained comfortable, though still reminded of their proper place.

Still other workers could be observed rolling out crushed velvet rugs atop the dais, and beneath the cushioned seats of the esteemed attendees, and down between the seats leading southward into the pavilion. Others yet were engaged in the erection of several smaller, more fluidly carved pillars about the dais and its shallow steps so that a central point lay framed between them; when this had been done, they turned to the task of stringing white silk and scarlet organza atop the pillars to create the borders of a sweeping canopy. The canopy itself they unfurled last of all: a shear bolt of white organza, so finely woven that it nearly seemed to vanish against the sky - and yet bespelled enough to serve as adequate protection against assassination attempts from above. Between the pillars, too, more guardian spells were placed, so that between these and the heightened security during the proceedings, the focal point of the coming ceremony would be well defended from any malcontents who sought to make a lethal demonstration of their displeasure with the celebrants.

A wall had been made of white silk several yards from the front edge of the dais; upon this, in gleaming thread stitched so that the image shimmered constantly from gold to scarlet, there rose the likeness of a stylized phoenix, its head raised skyward and its sweeping wings spread wide as though to envelop all who stood before it in the creature's glory. This wall, as well, was bespelled, with the phoenix itself enchanted so that it emitted an aura that would repel any attempts to counteract or otherwise meddle with the complex network of defensive wards protecting the canopy.

All was poised for a great celebration, and the air was electric with the anticipation of those who milled quietly about observing the preparations… though it was not an entirely happy sort of anticipation. The ceremony this morning would be the culmination of a source of great controversy throughout the kingdom, for it would be on this morning that Kael'thas Sunstrider, crown prince of the Kingdom of Quel'thalas, would at last take a bride.

A _human_ bride - and one well known among the sin'dorei.

Lady Jaina Proudmoore had never been an enemy to Quel'Thalas - quite the opposite, in point of fact. She had offered aid and shelter within Theramore to the high elves during their short exile in the early days following the destruction of the Sunwell, and had assisted high elves and blood elves alike in securing footholds for themselves within the newly rebuilt Dalaran. She had been a firm supporter of their neutrality from the outset, and despite a rocky start, under her leadership Theramore had been one of the kingdom's most valuable trade allies.

But there were few within Quel'Thalas who did not distrust her for one reason or another. The sin'dorei being significantly less cosmopolitan in recent years than their quel'dorei cousins, the most common reason for their dislike of the woman stemmed from the simple fact of her humanity. Too, and perhaps far more important, there was her long friendship with the High King of the Alliance and the slight but visible bias her neutrality had taken on as a result of it. None had forgotten the Alliance's failure to come to the aid of Quel'Thalas and her people in the years following the Scourge invasion, and few if any at all had forgiven it.

On the other hand, Lady Proudmoore’s refusal to aid in any war efforts against the Horde sat poorly with many of the blood elves, most of whom vividly remembered the Orcish Horde as it had once been. The Darkspear trolls were not the Amani, but that did little to assuage the fear and revulsion many still felt towards trolls in general - and none of the elves wanted anything at all to do with the Horde-aligned undead who claimed to be free of the Lich King’s influence. That Jaina chose to sue for peace with such a gathering of savages left a bitter taste among the citizens of Quel'Thalas.

And then, of course, there was her neutrality itself, as well as her adamant struggles for an end to the hostilities between the Horde and the Alliance. Her efforts seemed genuine enough, and there was no small amount of wisdom in the battles she chose to fight; indeed, at her most ardent, there was an air of confidence and quiet determination that seemed downright _elvish,_ something many among the sin'dorei found outright insulting - for how dare a mere _human_ parade about as though she were a fraction as wise or impartial as the elves?

Then again, there was the much more immediate, much more significant issue of precisely _why_ she had finally agreed to give Prince Kael'thas her hand in marriage, after decades of diplomatically spurning his advances.

Scarcely half a year before, Theramore - the city-state Lady Proudmoore had founded and ruled over for more than twenty years - had been targeted by the Horde under orders from Warchief Garrosh Hellscream, and destroyed using a mana bomb constructed by the treacherous Thalen Songweaver and empowered with a stolen blue dragon artifact known as the Focusing Iris. While the blast had slaughtered the majority of those within Theramore, there had been a ragged fraction who, like Jaina, had been fortunate enough to be away from the worst of the blast, or else sturdy enough to have survived somehow.

There were whispers that the attack had been intended especially to slaughter the Lady Proudmoore herself, and that news of her escape would drive the Warchief to hunt her down and finish the job. Those whispers brought with them none too little in the way of genuine fear, and with good reason.

The union of Lady Jaina Proudmoore and Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider was rather publicly a chiefly political move, regardless of any genuine affection or amenable history between the two. In exchange for Jaina's hand in marriage, Kael'thas had offered to welcome and protect the survivors of Theramore as permanent citizens of Quel'Thalas. He had promised also to aid in the hunt for and swift execution of justice against Thalen Songweaver, who had not only betrayed the trust of the citizens of Theramore with his actions, but also blackened the eye of Quel'Thalas herself, setting a hideous example of his own people as snakes and murderers.

But he offered this _only_ on the condition that Jaina accept his proposal.

Their union would seal Jaina as a member of the royal line of Sunstrider, and her people therefore would fall immediately under the jurisdiction of Quel'Thalas and its Convocation - and so King Anasterian, and the Convocation, and all the elvish citizens of Quel'Thalas would be powerless to overrule Kael'thas in the matter.

News of the marriage had not been announced to all the corners of Azeroth; only the Alliance and Quel'Thalas were officially made aware, with an additional announcement having been sent to Kul Tiras. Still, Songweaver’s duplicity had highlighted the reality that nothing could ever truly be called secret or safe were matters of great import were concerned. Surely the Horde had informants _somewhere,_ or other means besides to gather intelligence regarding their enemies - and so, surely, Garrosh would soon hear of this marriage.

How long, then, would it be before the Horde rained its fury down next upon fair Quel'Thalas?

But none of these concerns could dissuade the prince, nor had they fared any better against Jaina's determination to see her people safe. The Alliance were focused utterly on the newly-rediscovered island of Pandaria, and what resources were not occupied there were being poured instead into efforts to slow the Horde’s attempt to expand its hold across Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. There may be room among some of the Alliance kingdoms for the few hundred survivors of the attack on Theramore, but there could be no promise that resources could be spared to feed and clothe and shelter them, and between the sharp, nearly murderous snap of her initial fury and the swiftness with which Kael'thas had reached out to her, Jaina had not had the chance to ask anyone else for aid. Instead, when the time came to weigh out her options, she had been left to measure all else against Kael'thas’ proposal.

Clearly, the prince had offered more and better than Jaina believed anyone else could be capable of. There was some small gratification to be had, knowing that the Lady Proudmoore was most willing to entrust the welfare of her people with Quel'Thalas - but it was hardly enough to assuage the public.

Their eagerness for the ceremony was more an eagerness to participate in the festivities, though there was enough heady anticipation choking the air now that it might be easy to believe otherwise: that the air was charged with genuine giddiness, rather than the grim curiosity of a people awaiting the pomp and flair of an ostensible political disaster.

The city square shimmered at the edges, and slowly, gently, the image dissolved into a muted, faintly glittering silver screen. Another moment passed, and then this, too, faded away, leaving only clear water in its stead as the last bit of scrying magic bled away from the shallow marble basin in which it swirled.

The Grand Magister withdrew from the basin with a frown, folding his arms across his chest so that they vanished into their flared, scarlet sleeves as he eyed the empty water before him.

“Satisfied yet, Rommath?”

Rommath turned away and fixed Kael'thas with a withering look.

The prince was nearly lost behind the flurry of servants working over him. Two worked carefully over his hair, their fingers and fine, quill-narrow combs dancing about narrow braid at the back of his head and picking expertly along the many strands of his bangs that had been pulled into it; four others were busy meticulously applying a shimmering lacquer to his finger- and toenails that made them dance constantly between a rosy shade of orange and a brilliant fire-gold.

His makeup had already been done, and there was little reason to worry that it might smear or come off during this last bit of primping; the cosmetics used by the elves of Quel'Thalas were famously resilient, able to last for several weeks without so much as fading their colors, no matter how much water, grime, or scrubbing they were made to endure. His eyes were accentuated with winged, black eyeliner, with the upper eyelids dusted with the barest trace of bronze and the lower lids painted with a reverse smoky eye that, like his fingernails, started out blazing gold around the inner corners of his eyes and swept into pointed wings of rosy orange. Against the gentle, golden glow of his eyes themselves, the eyeshadow seemed to dance like true flames, ensuring that anyone who so much as glanced at his face would quickly find themselves enraptured by his gaze.

The rest of his makeup was subtle, nearly invisible by comparison: His lips were touched with a matte, bronze-toned rouge, and his high cheekbones had been punctuated with bronze and highlighted with a dash of pale ivory, lending his features - typically masculine, if finely so - an outright androgynous appearance that was not at all ill-suited to him.

None of it was enough to quash Rommath's irritation with the man, however - especially considering the smug, indulgent look the prince currently wore.

“I do appreciate the concern,” Kael'thas continued, “but we've taken every precaution against every possible avenue of attack, including all of your suggestions in regards to protective wards and evacuation protocols. I daresay we'd be hard-pressed to hurt _ourselves_ this morning, no matter how hard we tried.”

“Every suggestion _except_ the accessibility of the square prior to the ceremony,” Rommath retorted. “If you'll recall, I did advise against allowing the public to enter the pavilion until the last few minutes before we proceed.”

“Hmm.” Kael narrowed his eyes, but the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth gave away his pretended thoughtfulness. “I suppose I must have missed that one in all the chaos of planning the wedding.”

“Of course,” Rommath intoned. “This is, after all, nothing more than a public ceremony, celebrating a controversial marriage between the prince of a large, neutral kingdom and the former ruler of an island the Horde saw fit to annihilate. I'm sure I'm simply being overcautious.”

“That's the spirit,” Kael responded with a brilliant grin. “I knew you'd come to your senses eventually.”

A vein near Rommath's eye twitched - but before he could say anything more, another trio of servants entered the room, bearing between them the final pieces of the prince's wedding attire.

Kael'thas noticed them a heartbeat ahead of Rommath. The Grand Magister watched the younger man's ears perk up and sighed in resignation. Whatever little consideration he had managed to drag out of the prince had already vanished again under another swell of anticipation; there was no use attempting to continue this argument, now.

Though Kael'thas already wore the finely embroidered crimson tunic; loose, black, silken trousers; and rich cream colored sash that made up the first layer of his clothing, he had yet to don the outer layers and accessories of the outfit. There were still his black, slightly heeled slippers; a long-sleeved, knee-length outer coat in a much darker red and exquisitely detailed with golden threadwork; a golden mantle fashioned in the likeness of outspread wings; a flowing blood red cape that became glittering gold at the bottom hem; and an assortment of golden, ruby- and diamond-encrusted jewelry, spanning bracelets, rings, necklaces, anklets, ear cuffs, and a pair of ruby drops for the piercings in either earlobe.

Last of all, but most important, was the crown he would wear for the ceremony: Specially crafted for the wedding, the headpiece was an affair in gold and silver metalwork, delicate without quite entering into the realm of effeminate and gleaming even in the gentle ambient light of the room. Its appearance was that of two phoenices arising together, with their beaks turned towards each other and their wings unfurling along the sides of the crown. Thin silver chains looped across each other as they fell from multiple points along the back of the crown; diamonds dripped from the end of each feather; and between the birds there rested a great star ruby, faceted to such a degree that it seemed to burn with a light all its own no matter what angle it was viewed from.

In all, it would likely take another thirty minutes to have the prince properly arrayed. Lady Jaina would likely take just as long, assuming she had not attempted one last time to haggle down the number of outfits she would wear today, or protested any step of the careful preparations that should have preceded the introduction of the first layers of her ceremonial attire.

Rommath winced imperceptibly. On second thought, and taking into consideration how long Jaina had fought with the seamstresses in regards to the number and extravagance of her dresses, as well as the reasons she listed to explain her desire for a more modest affair…

“Shall I send someone to check on the bride?” Rommath asked, and this time he succeeded in keeping his tone light and casual in spite of the sudden dread that knotted his stomach.

Kael's eyes fairly burned with intensity as he turned to regard the Grand Magister, and his smile this time was slow and eager in a way that looked nearly predatory.

“Yes,” he said, “I think that's wise.”

Rommath nodded and gestured silently to yet another of the servants gathered in the room - this one a young woman dressed in the soft breeches and light, fitted tunic of a palace runner. The woman needed no further command, and darted away into the palace on silent, soft-booted feet, leaving them behind to complete their preparations.

The city outside might already roil with hushed voices and sleepy movement, but it hardly compared to the utter chaos within Sunstrider Palace. Servants filled the halls, flitting to and fro as they rushed to prepare for the grand feast to be hosted here immediately following the ceremony. Many carried bolts of silk between them, and twice as many or more bore great floral arrangements in all the colors of flame and sunrise.

The runner wove neatly through the throng, never breaking her stride as she moved at a brisk trot towards the quarters set aside for the bride - not even when her path took her down one flight of stairs and up another in order to bypass a large knot of elves working together over one of the more arterial hallways.

The air became suddenly more sweetly perfumed just as the bridal rooms came into view, thick and heady with the scent of lilies and champa. The runner slowed herself with practiced ease and came to a graceful halt just outside the door - and as though on cue, the door opened halfway, just enough to offer a view of a slender, aggravated woman in finely tailored clothes. The quality of the materials she wore, along with her crimson hair and the layered gold necklaces glittering about her throat, marked her as the head seamstress, Elenali Sunstrike.

“Her Highness is nearly ready,” Elenali said, her tone clipped and her eyes snapping with ire. This was not the first interruption she had had to deal with this morning, and she wasn't sure she would be able to stay her hand if it wasn't the last.

“She'll be ready in time for the ceremony?” The runner at least had the decency to look and sound somewhat abashed.

 _“Of course she will be.”_ The seamstress grit her teeth through a tight, murderous rictus. “Go tell His Highness to stop antagonizing me before I march over and tie his hair to the furniture.”

She closed the door before the runner could say anything else, then locked it with a sharp flick of her wrist before turning and gliding back into the main room. She doubted the runner would bring quite so uncivil a message back to the prince, and she was only fractionally more concerned that the prince would take any offense if she did.

It paid, on occasion, to be married to a lesser cousin of the Sunstrider royal line.

Lady Jaina stood with her arms outstretched in the center of the room, looking somewhat beleaguered as two more seamstresses fussed and picked at a few of the long strands of gems that made up the outer layer of much of her wedding gown. Her eyebrows lifted as Elenali approached.

“Your fiance is eager to begin,” Elenali said by way of explanation. “Not that I can blame him, of course, but it _is_ becoming rather disruptive at this point.”

She had worked with the soon-princess long enough to have realized that Jaina much preferred to speak and be spoken to candidly and without ceremony unless circumstances demanded otherwise. It was… odd, admittedly, for one who had already ruled over a veritable kingdom of her own for several years - but there was also a certain girlish sort of charm to it, and it made the human seem significantly more approachable.

Jaina smiled, though as usual there was a sadness to her eyes that marred the otherwise fond expression.

“Well… at least he won't have to wait much longer,” Jaina said, and for all the warmth she put into the words, her voice, too, was soft with still-fresh suffering. Elenali wondered if even _centuries_ of marriage to the Prince of Quel'Thalas could be enough to chase away such enduring sorrow.

Such dark thoughts didn't belong in the midst of wedding preparations, however, and so Elenali shook her pity away and stepped forward to neaten the flared, golden organza half-sleeves that fell from Jaina's beaded shoulders. Once finished, she turned her attention to the complex network of braids and thin ribbons that had been plaited across the top of Jaina's head.

Typically, red ribbons would have been used in the bride's hairstyle; however, the explosion at Theramore had saturated Jaina with arcane fallout, bleaching all but a single lock of her once golden hair a snowy white that seemed to gleam faintly in bright sun- and moonlight. The color contrasted too intensely with the scarlet ribbons they had initially experimented with to have gone with the warmer, rose gold slip and ruby accents of the dress, and so only two thin red ribbons had ultimately been incorporated into the final look - the other four, wider ribbons were a warm, shimmering gold.

Like her groom, Jaina would wear a specially crafted crown when she walked down the aisle; hers was smaller than the sweeping double-phoenix affair that would adorn Kael'thas’ brow, but what it lacked in size, it would make up for in elegance and impact. Paired with the gold-and-ruby earrings and necklace she wore, there was no chance that anyone would look on this woman and think her too plain for a princess bride - even taking into account the unconventional modesty of her wedding gown.

Jaina shifted suddenly, and Elenali spared a glance away from her work to watch as the human brought one arm close to inspect the scarlet lines that had been dyed into her pale skin several hours earlier.

“It suits you,” Elenali offered.

Jaina smiled again, but said nothing in return as Elenali stepped away to retrieve her veiled crown.

It took another fifteen minutes to finish Jaina's ceremonial attire - and, just as Elenali waved her assistants away at last, there came yet another knock on their door.

The same runner from before stood outside, cringing back slightly as Elenali opened the door and fixed her with a withering stare.

“She's ready,” Elenali said. “And on her way momentarily. Unless you've come to tell me I'm banished from the city for my impudence.”

“No, my Lady,” the runner said with a shallow dip of her head. “His Highness is en route to the plaza.”

Elenali smiled tightly. “We'll be along shortly; try to keep him from flying back here aback that great, squawking menace of a wild god. I didn't weave any charms against phoenix flame into his trousers.”

There was an ungainly snort behind Elenali as she closed the door in the runner's face, and she turned in time to see Jaina raise one expertly manicured hand to cover the grin spreading across her features. For once, genuine good humor shone in her eyes, and Elenali found it too infectious not to smile back.

“I suppose we'd better get you out there,” Elenali quipped, “before Kael'thas himself comes to break down the door.”

“We wouldn't want that,” Jaina returned, though it looked to Elenali as though she was quietly imagining just such a thing - and finding it rather humorous.

“Then… shall we?” Elenali asked, her voice gentling somewhat with her reluctance to bring an end to their banter. This was the most open Jaina had been since her arrival in Quel'Thalas nearly four months before, and certainly the closest Elenali had seen her come to seeming even a fraction of the brilliant if too-trusting young mage the rumor mill had once painted of her.

Elenali worried that reminding her of the impending ceremony - though there could be no avoiding that, of course - would dampen the younger woman's spirits again. Despite the caveat it came with, Jaina had not at all been coerced into this marriage, and she got on famously with the prince whenever they had the opportunity to spend a few stolen moments alone together - in direct defiance of all tradition, no less, which demanded that until they wed, an engaged couple should not be together at all except in the company of a chaperone.

All the same, Elenali had served a fair number of the brides of the royal family and its many offshoots, and knew the look of a woman who married for convenience rather than love. There might be genuine affection here, but Jaina was by no means marrying a man who had won her heart: Instead, she had chosen to sacrifice the chance that she might ever do so in order to buy safety and shelter for the people who looked to her still for leadership.

But Jaina surprised Elenali now by smiling brilliantly at her careful encouragement - perhaps a little too brilliantly, true, but there did appear to be genuine enthusiasm all the same as she lifted her hands as though to smooth her dress… and then lowered them again sheepishly as she remembered the dress was mostly made of strands of jewels and metal beads.

“I suppose we should,” Jaina said. “Everyone's all made up and waiting for me, after all. It’d be rude to disappoint them.”

“Of course,” Elenali agreed, though her heart grabbed at the thought that Jaina was only doing this at all to ensure the happiness of those around her.

Jaina closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, lifting her head and squaring her shoulders as she did. On the exhale, her eyes fluttered open once more - and her face changed, all girlish nerve bleeding away into a poised, delicate mask of utter confidence.

“All right,” she said after another breath. Her voice changed, too, remaining warm but hardening into something almost regal in its timbre. “Let's go have a wedding.”

Elenali opened the door again, and felt her bracing smile falter at the edges as Jaina glided past. Other brides had taught her this behavior, too - and it normally preceded loving, but unhappy marriages.

She could only pray for Jaina's sake that royalty were made of stronger stock than plain nobility - be they royal-bred or royal-wed.


End file.
